


Home

by Meishu



Category: Sengoku Basara
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-12 19:12:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2121450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meishu/pseuds/Meishu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was Keiji's favorite place, and he would leave it soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Day...

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry to say this is the sort of story which will only fully make sense at the end, but I'm hoping you'll be up for the journey. Genre, characters, and many other things will change by chapter.

Home

Prologue: One Day...

Hanbei just wanted that boy to disappear.

Yet there he remained, huddled close to his best friend on the thick, fallen tree branch which served as their makeshift bench. Their backs to the setting sun, shadows fell over their faces. Even in the dim light, Hanbei could see the shy upturn of his friend’s lips in answer to the foolishly wide grin of the vermin next to him. The boy’s hair hardly looked combed, unruly and long, just barely contained by a high ponytail. Seeing someone so uncouth next to his friend, who already exuded an air of authority with his strong shoulders despite his youth, made Hanbei’s stomach churn.

And yet, this boy dared to turn to him, his smile just as bright as it had been throughout his hushed conversation. “How about you, Han?” he asked, tilting his head and raising his voice.

Was he enough of an idiot not to realize that if he needed to raise his voice, Hanbei could not possibly have heard their prior words? Fools were so very insufferable. “Pardon?” he spoke coolly, with only the slightest effort to conceal his contempt. Purely out of concern for his friend, he had been trying to “get along” with this ruffian for the past few weeks since he had shown up out of nowhere.

“What’s your dream?” the boy asked, apparently deterred neither by Hanbei’s reaction nor the weight of his question.

Perhaps to a child such as this, it wasn’t grave at all. Hanbei could not say the same. He scowled.

“Kei was just telling me about his,” his friend provided, nodding encouragingly and adjusting himself to somewhat close the distance between them. He was already much too big to be able to sit comfortably on the branch. Hanbei didn’t understand at the time how his friend managed to grow at least twice as much as he did on the same rations.

A brief silence fell before it became apparent that Hanbei’s response was not forthcoming.

“I’m going on a journey,” the boy, who insisted on being called Kei despite the brief period of their acquaintance, offered proudly, as if it had already been decided. Hanbei had not asked, but even that did not deter him from continuing. “To see all kinds of places and meet as many people as I can.”

Hanbei’s lips remained pressed firmly into a thin line. “I see.”

Alas, this apparently served as encouragement to the boy across from him, who leaned forward eagerly. Despite the shadows of twilight, Hanbei could see an intense light in his eyes as he continued. “Don’t you feel like there are so many other things waiting out there for us?”

The only response Hanbei could give was a quiet grunt, his lips jerking into a slight frown. He certainly wasn’t contemplating any value in the boy’s words.

“Hide said he wanted to come too,” the boy chuckled, and Hanbei’s spine shot up immediately into a rigid line. He could only dimly see his friend’s expression, but his shoulders had fallen into a somewhat embarrassed shrug.

“It…” he mumbled, “it sounds like fun.”

Before he could be swept away by the black jealousy bubbling up within him, images flashed through Hanbei’s mind. The white door firmly shut within a rusty frame bearing the name Takenaka. The entry to his family home completely emptied of the familiar shoes. The huddle of unbathed children around a table with scarcely any food. The look he often caught in Hide’s eyes, not even a shadow of emotion remaining. Could there be more to the world than this?

Something burned behind Hanbei’s eyes, and he looked down, away from the remnants of the sunlight.

He had been about to answer when a woman’s shout for her wayward son broke through the trees surrounding them, and they knew their meeting for the day had ended. That day, Hanbei could still not imagine the freedom the other boy dreamed of. The word clung persistently to the walls of his small heart, although no one had voiced it.


	2. A Stifling Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the names don't bother anyone too much. No one is an OC, and this is pretty easy mode for figuring out who is who. I'd explain my logic for doing it but it would be pointlessly long. I hope the weather is better than this where you are.

**Home**

Fragment One: A Stifling Day

Masahiro dragged his palm over his forehead lethargically, feeling the damp strands of his bangs starting to stick up. He grumbled as he continued prowling the hallway. The doors all looked the same, with some random, illegible papers stuck to them. He assumed they were supposed to indicate who belonged in which room, but the characters on them were so scribbled they meant virtually nothing to him. In the unimaginable humidity, all he wanted at the moment was to get out of this damned hallway with its annoyingly patterned carpet. He swore the bright, jagged lines were making him dizzy. He was only thankful that he had opted to ignore the large suitcase his caretaker had conscientiously prepared for him in favor of his usual backpack. So what if he only had a few pairs of clothes? It beat lugging that thing through this heat. Unless it meant his caretaker showing up at his doorstep a few days later with the luggage and a few extra wrinkles on his forehead, that is.

He'd been told his room assignment before, possibly by said long-suffering caretaker, but everything in his head was blurry at the moment. Entering university came with an overwhelming amount of new information, most of which Masahiro had not deemed important enough to dedicate precious brain cells to. Sadly, he must have not reserved enough for his room number.

 _Two hundred… something_ , he recalled. The door before him sported a paper with scrawled names just as unreadable as the rest. He squinted at it. Maybe it was just because he'd spent half of his life abroad in his father's homeland, but this hardly looked like Japanese to him in the first place. He knew how to read, for Christ's sake, and this was something else entirely. One of the characters, at least, he could identify as from his last name. If only he hadn't been in his mother's family register; being the one person with a foreign name might suck, but at least he could have found his forsaken college dorm room.

"Close enough," he growled, done with hesitating. He kicked the door carelessly in the hopes that his roommate had already arrived and left it unlocked. Considering he was the only one still in the hallway, it seemed likely enough.

True to his expectations, the door swung open upon impact with his foot.

What he hadn't expected was to see a half-naked person seated at one of the desks inside, running a brush through their long and frankly stunning brown hair. Masahiro jolted, considering making a run for it. But no, it was far too hot for that. In the next instant the room's occupant turned towards him, eyes wide, and he saw from the bare chest that no, he had not just walked in on a dazzling maiden. With his luck, Rapunzel here was probably his roommate—and just as male as he.

Opting to ignore the surprised gaze, he crossed the room to the opposite side and threw his backpack down on one of the beds.

"Um," he heard from behind him, along with a clunk that he assumed was the hairbrush hitting the wood of the desk.

Masahiro waited through a moment of stifling silence before turning back to his roommate, his only visible eyebrow quirked. "Yes?"

He saw the other's face twitch just slightly, probably with suppressed irritation. Great. The ones who tried the hardest were the most fun to piss off.

"Good afternoon," the boy started properly once eye contact was somewhat established. To Masahiro's surprise, he stood up and dipped into a bow, which sent his locks rushing forward over his face. "My name is Takemura Genjirou Yuki, and I am now beginning my first year of university at this fine institution…"

Masahiro could hardly believe what he was hearing as this guy kept rambling, his head still bowed. And, what kind of Japanese person had a middle name? "Hey," he barked.

This Yuki or whatever looked up at him, his back still bent. His wide eyes matched the warm color of his hair almost too well. He must have at least dyed his hair to do that. Masahiro knew it was a trendy thing among girls to try to force their dark hair to take that chestnut color, but he had hardly heard of a guy dedicated enough to do that. With such long hair, it must have been unnecessarily expensive as well. Masahiro's head hurt just looking at this doofus. There was simply no other word to describe this guy.

"Pardon me?"

From the look of confusion on Yuki's face, he gathered he might have been speaking English or something. He sighed. Didn't this whole country take the language all through high school? Was "hey" really too high level?

"You don't have to bow or anything," he answered, neglecting to bother explaining himself. "No need to be so formal, if we're going to be roommates."

Yuki's brow furrowed, but he straightened. For the first time Masahiro noticed that he was pretty well muscled for a smaller guy. He hadn't been staring, of course, nothing too interesting about a guy without his shirt-but now he couldn't help but wonder what he'd be like in a fight. "Actually, I don't believe…" he trailed off, glancing aside and away from Masahiro's face. Maybe he'd noticed the whole eye thing. Masahiro was used to such averted gazes by now. "I don't believe we  _are_  going to be roommates."

" _What_?" Masahiro snarled, his arm swinging to pose in an aggressive gesture before logic could have its way with him. "You got a problem with me?"

"No!" Yuki practically exploded, his arms flailing and hands waving to emphasize his point. "I simply…"

Before he could finish, they heard the sound of the door once more flying open as a laughing voice drifted in from the hallway. "You already getting rowdy in here, Yuki?"

Without dropping his combative stance, Masahiro turned to the intruder, who had gone ahead and strode in without invitation. His dark hair was tied up into a ponytail, which swayed low over his broad shoulders. He was tall, probably a good few inches over Masahiro himself, much to his distaste. And Masahiro hardly prided himself on his fashion sense, but he had to say that this guy had truly atrocious color coordination skills. His maroon purple shirt simply didn't match a single thing about his appearance. Regardless, he was sporting a goofy smile and swinging a rucksack behind him.

"Sir Keiichi," Yuki practically shouted, shocking Masahiro out of his glowering inspection of the stranger. "My apologies, I had absolutely no intent to be disruptive!"

"'Course you didn't," this guy, apparently Keiichi, spoke warmly, mussing up Yuki's hair with his free hand. "And don't call me that! Just Kei is fine."

"Right…" Yuki answered, his brow furrowed just slightly. Whether it was due to the mess his bangs were becoming or because of the nickname being imposed upon him, Masahiro personally didn't care to guess.

Masahiro decided right then that this guy would forever remain Keiichi to him. Although, hopefully he wouldn't even need to talk to him again.

"Great." Seemingly satisfied, Keiichi ceased patting Yuki's head and turned to the other occupant of the room. "Who's your friend?"

Masahiro scoffed.

Yuki appeared confused until he followed Keiichi's gaze, at which point his lips sunk into a troubled frown. "He didn't introduce himself," was his reply, and Masahiro almost laughed that of all things, that was what he was caught up on.

Still feeling somewhat reluctant, he shut his eye and took a deep breath. "Date Masahiro," he spat out. "And what are you doing here?"

Keiichi only looked surprised for a second before chuckling. "Well, I live here."

It had taken a good half hour of irritation before Masahiro would acknowledge that the paper outside did indeed read "Iida Keiichi," and even then he maintained that whoever had such chicken scratch handwriting was the one at fault, and not himself. And many years later when Yuki remained fond of reminding him of their meeting that stifling day, he could only blame it all on the heat. Keiichi had laughed for days after they'd discovered that Masahiro lived in a different building, but it hadn't stopped them from running into each other constantly. In fact, they'd formed something of a reluctant bond over the year Keiichi remained there. Yuki would still laugh, remembering his antics, but something burned in Masahiro knowing that they'd been left behind despite how much Yuki cared for him. He'd shown Yuki so much affection so very casually, and left without any urgency to find his "next home," as he'd put it.

This burning feeling had nothing to do with himself, of course.


	3. A Rainy Day

**Home**

 

Fragment Two: A Rainy Day

 

Fall was here.

 

More than anything, Yukihiko knew this because of the scarlet overcoat now draped across the trees outside his window. Their warm red color sparked a sensation of excitement somewhere once forgotten within him. Thanks to his own overcoat, which was possibly just as splendid as the one the trees donned and certainly more expensive, he no longer needed to worry about the encroaching cold, but the chill at the base of his spine reminded him that this had not always been the case. The newly red leaves looked especially resplendent with the thin sheen of rain water. It was only just beginning to drizzle now, but the grey sky promised a long, rainy day.

 

The three little taps on the paper of his door were almost hesitant and quiet enough to be mistaken for the still gentle and intermittent rain. He could barely tell it was a visitor—and it wasn't Sasuke, which struck him as odd.

 

“Come in,” Yukihiko spoke only loudly enough to ensure he would be heard. His heart sped up just slightly as he turned towards the sound of the door sliding against the frame. No visitors would be allowed into the back of the theater at this time of day, unless...

 

But the face that greeted him wasn't the one he had hoped to see. Warm brown eyes smiled at him from beneath long, brown, and constantly somewhat unkempt hair. “Sorry to intrude,” the man greeted him with a surprisingly gentle voice for his large frame.

 

“Sir Maeda,” Yukihiko quickly ducked down into a bow. “I apologize for my unseemly appearance... I did not expect to receive guests so early...”

 

“Unseemly?”

 

Although he should have been used to it, Yukihiko colored somewhat under the appraising look of his visitor. He drew his overcoat closer around himself.

 

“Looks fine to me,” the man finished with a toothy smile. “And I told you not to be so formal. Keitarou's fine. Or even just Kei!”

 

“Sir... Keitarou,” Yukihiko bit his lip, eyes drifting to the floor. “What brings you here at this time of day?”

 

“I can't drop by just to check in on you?”

 

“That's not what I...” Yukihiko rushed to practically yell, but a brief glance up at Keitarou's smiling face was all it took to see the shadow over his eyes. “Of course you can,” he whispered.

 

“I know, I know,” Keitarou chuckled. “I really had to needle your resident bodyguard to get back here before the play.”

 

Yukihiko laughed, too. He could easily imagine Sasuke all but throwing Keitarou out, despite the difference in their statures. He'd heard of a similar instance before from a slightly ruffled lover—who had, of course, been denied at the entrance. “So you did have some important business?”

 

“I don't know if you could say that,” Keitarou admitted, rolling his shoulders back. “Just an impossible request.”

 

Resting his hands over his stomach, Yukihiko endeavored to look into his guest's eyes again. He regretted it just a little. Resigned, he nervously laced his fingers together.

 

Fortunately, he didn't need to ask for Keitarou to continue. “Don't you want to see more of the world?”

 

Yukihiko heard the leaves outside rustling in the wind. The rain sounded a bit heavier than it had just a few minutes earlier. He smiled a little. “I do.”

 

Keitarou's wide-eyed look made him press his hands together anxiously.

 

“Why do you ask?” He was better at pretending than he'd have liked, but Yukihiko couldn't help but cringe despite the innocently clueless expression his features fell into.

 

Yukihiko felt Keitarou's eyes move from him to some point beyond. Perhaps he was only thinking about how the path would be littered with wet leaves on his trip home. “I'm leaving,” he answered.

 

Blinking a few times, Yukihiko nodded. “Are you returning home?”

 

Yukihiko heard the sound of Keitarou's ponytail swishing against the fabric of his outer jacket rather than seeing his head shaking. “Just another journey,” he explained with a smile. “I've already stayed here longer than I thought I would... too long.”

 

“Please travel safely.”

 

The words must have sounded just as empty and out of place to both of them. Keitarou only nodded sharply.

 

“You said you wanted to see... didn't you?”

 

Yukihiko's head shot up, and he saw the look in Keitarou's eyes before he could remind himself to look down. Something inside him did waver then. He closed his eyes. “Not that,” he whispered.

 

Only a moment passed of heavy silence before Keitarou spoke, his voice thick, “It's him, isn't it?”

 

Yukhiko's knuckles turned white in his own grip over his stomach. “I suppose we aren't very discreet,” he mumbled.

 

Keitarou chuckled, but it was difficult to hear the humor in it. “It still takes a love-struck man a while to wisen up to these things.”

 

Although his gaze remained fixed on his own feet, Yukihiko saw the smile of the strange one-eyed merchant who had refused to leave him alone despite the constant, not very subtle bullying from their resident script-writer who doubled as his unofficial guardian. He pulled his overcoat more tightly around himself. Its weight on his shoulders felt reassuring suddenly. “Everyone at the theatre is my family. I just couldn't leave them. I hope you understand.”

 

“Of course.”

 

Seeing movement at the edge of his vision, Yukihiko glanced up to see Keitarou reaching out a hand only to drop it back to his side. “I'd better leave while I can,” he said as he turned around, one hand on the sliding door.

 

The door grated just slightly against its frame as it was pushed open. Yukihiko dropped down into a bow.

 

“Thank you for your business.” His lips moved to speak out of habit before he could stop them. A bitter taste clung to the roof of his mouth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If someone out there is an expert on Edo era Kabuki and is mad because this isn't accurate, I apologize. I'm writing whatever I want at this point, although in my soul I desire to write an entire novel about the tale of Kabuki actor Yukimura.


End file.
